Renaissance
by pathera
Summary: ON HIATUS INDEFINITELY. Post-Hogwarts. Harry saw the growing corruption of the Ministry after the defeat of Voldemort, but he never expected to see his family ripped apart. Not Epilogue or DH compliant.
1. In Which Harry has a Bad Feeling

A/N: So, let's start this off with something shocking. This is _not _a one-shot. It's a chapter story and a long one. I fully expect this to run around twenty chapters--seven of which are completed at this moment. I can't tell you how fast this will update, but I'm posting it so that, hopefully, I will finally _finish _this thing. I've been staring at the current stopping point for a while now, and I need the motivation to move forward. So, what exactly _is _this? It's a post-Hogwarts story that is _not _Epilogue compliant. It's not even really DH-compliant, though I do pull some things from DH. But I play with time-lines, and essentially I create a world in which all of the characters I _want _to be alive _are _alive, and where the pairings are whatever I say they are. Oh, how I love fanfiction. Anyway, this is a story centering around Harry, Ginny, their children, and the Weasleys. I'll warn you right now that I utilize the oh-so cliche Harry-Goes-To-Azkaban plot, but there is a _twist_. It is, hopefully, clever enough to be worth reading. So welcome to the first chapter of _Renaissance, _and enjoy!

Disclaimer: Anything that you recognize belongs to that genius across the Atlantic Ocean. Anything that you _don't _recognize--such as Emma and JJ--belong to me, but trust me, I'm not gettin' paid.

Renaissance

_Chapter One_

He had a bad feeling.

It wasn't as though he had gained mystical precognitive powers during the war; rather he had achieved a mastery of looking around and noticing things that others might have missed, of putting together the pieces of the puzzle. He was no master strategist—that was Ron's area of expertise—but he had a certain sense for perceiving possible futures.

And he didn't like what he saw.

He saw fear in the eyes of the public, as if nothing had changed since the war. This time, however, the fear was not directed towards Voldemort and the incomprehensible, distant enemy, but towards the Ministry. They were growing powerful, and, as the well-known saying goes: absolute power corrupts absolutely. In the aftermath of a war that destroyed so much, trying to fit the pieces back together only created more of a mess.

The Ministry seemed to sense the seeds of rebellion amidst the masses, and they were reacting in the simplest of ways: searching for a scapegoat. If the war had taught them anything it was that when provided with a common enemy, unity under leadership suddenly became a much more viable source of comfort and control. People flocked like sheep when frightened, and the Ministry was the Shepherd pulling them along.

He had a bad feeling.

There had been rumors, slippery little shadowed whispers that fluttered from mouth to ear, and always skittered away whenever he came near. He was starting to feel paranoid, the way a person does when walking into a room filled with conversation, only to find that all conversations have ceased upon their entrance. It was paranoid nature to assume that the conversations were about him, that the rumors were about him.

But paranoia had kept him alive more than once.

There were whispers and there were looks, directed towards him; the feeling of being under suspicion, of being studied like a slide under a microscope, was familiar and entirely unwanted. It was like the days of the Chamber of Secrets, being thought of as the Heir of Slytherin and a murderer; it was like the Triwizard Tournament when most of the school had turned on him; it was like his fifth year, when his sanity and his dedication to the light was brought into question.

It was a feeling he hadn't felt in a while. He'd been the Savior, the grand War Hero, in the aftermath of Voldemort's defeat nearly ten years before; later he had become the rising Auror, combater of the darkness.

Taking a pinch of floo-powder, which he still hated but was the fastest and easiest mode of transportation from work to home, he stepped into the fire. "Griffin's Nest!" There was a familiar whirling and he shut his eyes tightly rather than seeing the swirling flames around him. In a moment he found himself being dumped out of the fireplace; he careened forwards, keeping his balance but only just barely.

"I'm home!" He called, brushing soot from himself. There was a brief silence and the scuffling sound of feet. He braced himself for the impact as a dark-haired girl came bursting in from the next room and slammed into him. He stumbled back a little and wrapped his arms around the girl. "'Ello, Emmy." He barely had time to prepare as another child, this one with flaming red hair, came dashing in, slamming into him in the same place that Emmy had just vacated.

He ruffled the boy's hair. "Hey JJ."

"Nice work, you little fiends." A woman said, entering the room. She grinned at him. "Are you bruised yet, hon?"

"Just a little banged up. At least I stayed on my feet this time." He said, crossing the room and kissing her on the cheek.

The children booed.

Grinning he spun around. "All right, you two." He said, advancing on them, his face mock-serious. They exchanged looks, their eyes sparkling, and then backed away, drawing closer together. "You are in _so _much trouble." He growled. JJ clapped his hands over his mouth to muffle a giggle. Their backs hit the wall and he bore down upon them, leaping forwards and tickling them mercilessly.

Giggles erupted and they squirmed. "Daddy!"

He focused on JJ and Emmy jumped on his back, her small fingers prodding for the ticklish spots on _his _side. He looked over his shoulder. "Ginny! I need reinforcements!"

The red-haired woman grinned and leaned against the wall. "I think you're doing well enough on your own there, Harry." The two children giggled again and completely turned the tables on him, tickling him as mercilessly as he had tickled them. He curled into a fetal position for a moment and then uncurled, grabbing JJ with one arm and Emmy with the other, immobilizing them.

"Fiends, both of you!"

"I've been saying that since they were born." Ginny said, moving from the wall.

"Like mother, like daughter." He said, nodding his head to Emmy. "She gets it from you."

"Like father, like son." She taunted back, pointing to JJ. "That imp is just as troublesome as you ever were!"

He made his eyes wide and schooled his expression to one of innocence. "_Me_? Troublesome? Never!"

Ginny propped her hands on her hips. "You keep telling yourself that, Harry James Potter."

He released the children, who ran from the room, most likely to cause some form of mayhem. He moved to stand next to his wife, wrapping his arms around her. She grinned and laid her head on his chest. Now that there weren't any romance-opposed observers he took the opportunity to give her a real 'hello'.

From the next room there was a crash and the sound of fleeing feet.

Breaking off the kiss the two broke into laughter. "This is what happens when you have two monsters running around."

He grinned. "But they're our monsters."

She poked him in the chest. "They're yours. They've been _mine _since I got home. It's _your _turn."

Shoving his hands into his pockets he strolled out of the room. "Oy! Fiends! What'd you break and which one of you did it?" He yelled.

"It was Emmy!"

"JJ did it!" Came the simultaneous replies. He grinned. Here, in the safety of his home, with his family, the world seemed a little brighter, and the bad feelings and suspicions seemed to slip away.

* * *

Am I off to a good start? That little blue/purple button is just calling your name!


	2. In Which Things Begin to Go Wrong

A/N: All of my lovely reviewers, clap their hands. *crickets*. An honest thank you to those who are actually out their lurking, and here's the next chapter! Anyway, I'll warn you right now that in this chapter the action starts. First chapter was sort of a prologue, just setting things up. From now on the poor characters are going to be in a _lot _of trouble, haha. Enjoy, and for the love of everything holy, REVIEW!

_Chapter Two_

"Ron?"

The red-head looked up from his desk to find his best friend standing in his doorway, leaning against the doorframe. He frowned when he saw the expression on Harry's face.

"What's wrong, mate?"

Harry entered the room and closed the door behind him. "Nothing specific. Just…a feeling."

Ron stood and moved to sit on the front of his desk, his arms folded. "What feeling?"

Harry ran his hands through his hair, sinking into one of the chairs in front of the desk. "That something bad is about to happen."

"Harry, what's going on?"

"I just have a bad feeling, like something is going to go very wrong." The dark-haired man fell silent for a moment, and then looked up at Ron. "If…if something happens, Ron, if something happens to me and Gin, I want you to make sure that Emma and JJ are taken care of."

"Harry, what are you talking about? You're starting to freak me out."

"Sorry." He said, as he pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Ron. The taller man opened it and his eyes widened.

"Your will?" Harry nodded and Ron read through the paper. "Harry, how many people do you have under caretakers for the kids?"

He half-smiled, knowing just how long the list was. "Everyone I could think of that I trust."

Ron frowned. "Harry, what do you know that makes you think something's going to happen?"

Harry just shook his head. "It's not anything I know, Ron. It's just what I feel."

_____

She screamed but no sound passed from her lips; the silencing spell took care of that. She fought, kicking and clawing at her attackers, but they were more powerful than she was and there were more of them. Their hands were all over her, binding her, immobilizing her, and _touching _her in ways that made shivers of revulsion climb up and down her spine.

"_Imperio_." The voice said, and she felt her body still.

_No. _She could fight the curse, throw it off. She had done it before.

"Drink." The voice commanded, holding a flask of something to her lips. She felt her mouth start to open and instantly fought, grinding her teeth together.

_Drink. _The voice was in her head, commanding and compelling. Her teeth began to part.

_Drink. _

_No. _

She fought the battle within herself, her body tense.

_Drink! _

_No!_

_DRINK!_

_NO!_

With an inarticulate scream she threw off the curse. The hooded man slapped her and her head snapped to the side, her cheek blossoming red. "_Imperio!_" There was more force this time. "Drink!"

_No!_

A second figure appeared to her side, wand pointed at her. "_Imperio! _Drink!"

She felt her will slipping beneath the force of two curses.

_Drink!_

_No!_

_DRINK!_

_No…._

Her mouth opened and the flask was quickly tipped upwards, the cold liquid sliding down her throat. Hot tears squeezed themselves from her eyes and she felt the force of the curses fade. She slumped to the ground, the hands no longer holding her in place.

She felt nothing at first. Her head tilted up, to stare into the dark, hooded faces of her attackers. "Wh-who—?"

The man in front slid his hood back and she stared, disbelieving, into the face of a person she never expected.

"So long, Ginerva Potter." His voice was annoyingly triumphant, with an almost sing-song quality.

"You'll never get away with this." She spat up at him.

He smirked.

"I already am."

He spun on his heel and walked away, his fellow attackers trailing behind him. They left her crumpled on the floor, staring after them. She moved to stand when the potion took effect.

She had been subjected to the Cruciatus Curse more than once during the war, but there was no getting used to that kind of pain. This was somewhat like the Cruciatus Curse; it was like liquid fire rolling through her veins, like ice stabbing her insides, and her head felt as though it would just explode from the absolute agony. But the Cruciatus was only physical pain—if the term _only _was applicable to the Cruciatus—while this was something far more sinister.

It was somewhat similar to the presence of a hundred dementors and hundred boggarts. She felt cold and her body shook; every single happy memory went out of her mind and she was filled with the agony and the fear of her worst memories. She saw her darkest, deepest fears and memories as if they were real and tangible in front of her.

Suddenly she knew how a person could go crazy in Azkaban.

It was torment with no end.

Suddenly she knew how the Cruciatus had driven Neville's parents to insanity.

When there was no end to the torment, when she found that she could no longer take the torture, her mind fled to another place where there was no pain and there was no feeling.

Ginerva Potter, formerly Weasley, was gone, trapped inside of her own mind.

_____

The stunning spell had taken him off guard, striking him in the back. He fell, the floor racing up to meet him, and he struck with a painful thud. He didn't see the attacker, just felt the painful kicks to the side and to his head that quickly brought blackness.

He woke with a blinding headache, his skin pressed against a cold wooden floor. His first thought was for his wand; his hands groped through his pockets and he felt the familiar grain of the wood. He pulled the wand out and sat up, looking around for the enemy.

A low, incoherent mumble made his head swing to the side. He felt a chill run over him as he recognized the woman curled in the corner, her knees to her chest. "Ginny?" She didn't look at him, didn't show any sign of recognition. He crawled over to her, finding himself unable to stand. "Ginny!"

Her eyes were wide and focused on the wall across from her; her figure trembled and shook and rocked slightly back and forth. Her knees were drawn to her chest, her arms wrapped around her midriff.

"Ginny?" He said again, his panic growing. He laid one hand on her and she stiffened, her head swinging up. He moaned when he saw that there was no sign of life in her eyes. Her mouth opened and for a moment he felt hope that she was okay, just a little stunned.

Then she screamed.

He jerked away as her high-pitched, terrified scream filled the room. "Ginny! Ginny, snap out of it!"

She kept screaming, rocking back and forth faster and faster, her thin body smashing against the walls. He reached out to stop her but she thrashed more violently, still screaming.

The door into the room burst open and Aurors erupted into the room, their wands drawn. "Back away from her, Potter!" One of them, a man that he recognized as Dawlish, shouted. "Throw down your wand!"

He dropped his wand, still looking at Ginny with a horrified expression.

"What did you do to her?" Dawlish shouted.

Harry looked at him, snarling. "You think I did this?"

"_Stupefy!" _The Auror shouted, and for the second time in a day Harry found himself stunned. He watched as one of the Aurors stunned Ginny as well, then carefully levitated her. "_Incarcerous_." Dawlish said, and Harry found himself bound by ropes. They levitated him as well and he found himself being portkeyed to the Ministry of Magic.

They shoved him into an interrogation room, canceling the spells on him and locking him. He pounded on the door. "Where is my wife?"

It seemed as though hours passed before the door opened and Dawlish strode in. Harry was on his feet in a moment; the Auror's pointed wand stopped him from moving forwards. "Stay where you are, Potter." Dawlish growled out. "No sudden movements."

"Where is my wife? Is she okay?"

The Auror sneered. "She's at St. Mungo's, where they are trying to undo what you did to her. And no, Potter, she is not okay. Most people aren't after being _tortured into insanity_."

Harry sat with a thump. "What the hell are you talking about?" He shouted, his heart thumping in his chest.

Dawlish slammed his fists on the table. "Don't play dumb, dammit! You _tortured _her with the Cruciatus Curse! We have _your _wand which says that the last spell you cast was the Cruciatus. We checked your whereabouts for the day; you came in early this morning but no one has seen you since twelve o'clock. So where were you, Potter?"

"I was stunned in my office." Harry said in a tight voice, his hands balled into fists beneath the table. "I woke up minutes before you arrived with no idea how I got there or even where I was."

The Auror waved his hand. "A likely story. So easy to come up with, so hard to prove. Couldn't you think of a better lie?" It was Harry's turn to slam his fists against the much-abused surface of the table.

"That is the truth! Test me with Veritaserum!"

Dawlish narrowed his eyes. "Save it for the trial, Potter. You are officially suspended from Auror duty and arrested for the torture, by means of Cruciatus Curse, of Ginerva Potter."

"I didn't do it!" Harry shouted. "I would never hurt her!" Dawlish leaned forwards, across the table.

"People have been watching you, Potter. Waiting for signs that you were going dark. No one with that much power could not be. And here's the proof. Torturing your own wife." The Auror's eyes narrowed. "Were you about to finish her off? Were you about to finish the job, or was it your intention to just let her suffer for the rest of her life?"

Harry's mouth opened and closed. He trembled, feeling as though he had run five miles without stopping, feeling as though he was sucking in breath after breath with no oxygen entering his lungs. The Auror continued.

"I am going to make sure that you go away for this, Potter. Make sure that you never hurt anyone ever again. I'm going to make sure that you never see your wife or your children _ever _again."

His eyes widened. He'd been so caught up in thoughts of Ginny that he'd nearly forgotten about Emma and JJ.

The Auror's face seemed to light up in triumph. "Oh yes. Forgotten all about the little ones, had you? You will never see them again, Potter. And they will be placed as far away from you as possible, as far away from your evil as they can possibly get."

He felt the blood draining from his face as he stared into the Auror's eyes. There was something wrong with those eyes….

Dawlish leaned closer, his lips inches away from Harry's ear.

"I am going to make sure, Potter, that you, and your wife, and your precious little children suffer as much as humanly possible. You are going to beg us to kill you, before the end."

He pulled away, spinning towards the door.

"If you touch one hair on either of my children's heads, I'll kill you." Harry said through ice-numb lips, feeling his entire body quiver. Dawlish turned with a sneer on his lips.

"Further proof of how dark you've turned, Potter. Death threats in the Ministry. Threatening Aurors. You may as well confess to your wife's torture right now and spare us the trouble of having a trial."

Harry jerked his chin up. "You've put an innocent man in Azkaban before. It will never happen again." He stood, using the table to support himself. "You won't get away with this, Dawlish."

"You're right about one thing, Potter. Another innocent man will never go to Azkaban again." The man smirked. "But you aren't innocent. And the Veritaserum will prove it." He pulled the door open and walked out, pausing in the doorway. "Don't try anything funny, Potter."

The door slammed shut, leaving Harry alone in the room that seemed to echo with emptiness. The dark-haired man collapsed against the wall, sliding down and pulling his knees to his chest. In the course of a few hours his life had been destroyed. He closed his eyes and saw Ginny's body slamming violently against the wall, heard her loud, panicked scream as clearly as if she were next to him. He could see her lifeless, uncomprehending eyes staring forwards, with no sign that she understood anything at all.

He saw his children as he had last seen them: Emma laughing and tossing her hair over her shoulder as she balanced on her tiptoes to kiss him goodbye; JJ running into his arms to be picked up and twirled around, then placed back on the ground.

He hadn't cried during the war. He had held in the tears, suppressing them, biting them down and swallowing them until, when he woke the morning after the battle, to find most of his friends safe and sound, they came in a flood and overwhelmed him. He had cried for what seemed like days, crying in sorrow and relief and other emotions that he couldn't even put a name to. He felt that was the catharsis of his soul.

Now he found himself swallowing the tears again. It wouldn't do to be weak here, not when his family was in danger. He couldn't allow the fear to overwhelm him.

He bit his inner cheek hard, drawing blood and letting the coppery taste fill his mouth.

He would cry when it was over, when Ginny looked at him and knew who he was, when Emma and JJ ran into his arms and they went home and never looked back.

He drew his knees closer to his chest.

He would see them again.

He had to.

* * *

Reviews are love, remember?


	3. In Which the Trial Begins

A/N: Welcome to Chapter Three of _Renaissance_! Thanks to my reviewers and anyone who is following the story, and I am sorry for the slow updates. They'll probably only get slower, since I start work in about two weeks and I'll be gone through August, so updates will be sporadic at best. Still, the next couple of chapters _are _written and just need editing, so they'll be up eventually. This chapter starts the beginning of Harry's trial. I realize that the wizarding court system probably wouldn't run like this, but I took some creative liberties and set it up similar to an American court system, with lawyers, witnesses, the prosecution, and the defense. I think it's written the way it is because I was reading a lot of Jodi Picoult while writing it--she's _fantastic_ and so are her trial scenes--and it's definitely more dialogue-based than action-based. It's also longer, almost twice as long as the second chapter, which I'm quite proud of. Anyway, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the single character you don't recognize, and he's an idiot at that, so that's not saying much.

_Chapter Three_

When the door to his holding cell swung inwards and Zacharias Smith walked in, Harry got a bad feeling again. He and Smith had never gotten along, and his year-mate--who worked as an Obliviator--had absolutely no reason to be standing in his cell. Without a word Smith pointed his wand straight at Harry, his lips tugging into a cruel, smug smirk.

"Smith, what the hell—?" Harry felt the shields of his mind being bombarded. He instantly clamped down, strengthening them, but the attack continued. The Legillmency was clumsy, nothing at all like Voldemort or Snape, but it was brutal, battering at his mind like a ram. And Harry had _never _been good at Occlumency, especially not after years where his skills had gotten rusty.

He felt a kick to his side, then another, and curled up in pain, opening his eyes. He lost concentration for a second and the former Hufflepuff broke into his mind. It was only for a few seconds and then the attack was gone. Harry opened his eyes, staring up.

_"Obliviate." _

_______

"I _demand _the right to meet with my client."

Harry heard Hermione's voice echo down the hallway and sat up. He heard a lower reply that he couldn't make out and then his friend's voice again.

"By the seventeenth code set by the Wizengamot in 1951 all lawyers have a right to meet with their clients and cannot be prevented from doing so, no matter how highly-accused their client is. Furthermore, if you do not move out of my way I will slap you with a lawsuit so hard that your head will still be spinning a year from now, when you are sitting on a street corner because no one will hire you!"

Harry grinned. He heard the click of her heels on the stone floor and she appeared around the corner, her cheeks flushed. The snarl on her face fell into a frown of worry when she saw him and she rushed over to his cell.

"Harry! Are you alright?"

He stood with a groan, working the kinks from his neck. "I've been better, 'Mione."

"I'll get you out of here. I promise."

He shook his head. "Don't promise things that you can't deliver, Hermione." His eyes flickered to the guard and she followed his gaze, her body stiffening.

"I'll try my hardest, then."

He approached the bars to his cell but was stopped by a voice. "Mr. Potter, you will maintain a distance of three feet from Mrs. Granger-Weasley." Dawlish said. Harry's face contorted and his hands curled into fists.

Hermione faced him. "Harry is my best friend as well as my client. He wouldn't hurt me."

"And his victim was his wife. It's for your protection, Mrs. Granger-Weasley. Even without his wand he's still dangerous."

"You're assuming guilt before there has even been a trial!"

Dawlish sneered. "I assure you, Miss, that this trial is a mere formality. Mr. Potter is as guilty as they come."

"I'm going to prove otherwise." Hermione said, her eyes flashing as she squared her shoulders.

The Auror bowed his head. "No offense, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, but that is impossible." He walked away and she glared at his retreating back.

"Sit down, Hermione." Harry said, shaking his head. "And tell me how bad it is."

She conjured a chair and sat, clenching a vanilla folder in her hands. "I'm not going to lie, Harry. It doesn't look good. No one can account for your whereabouts between twelve and the time you were arrested. The last spell performed by your wand was the _Cruciatus_. And…." She trailed off.

"How is Ginny?"

Hermione shook her head, her face pale. "She's…bad. She doesn't like to be touched; they've had to use calming potions and stunning spells just to examine her. And she screams." Her eyes were haunted. "Oh God, Harry, I never want to hear her scream like that again. Ron hasn't left her side."

"Emma and JJ?"

"Mrs. Weasley's taking care of them right now, so that she doesn't have to think about Ginny."

He closed his eyes, sitting on the metal cot and lowering his head into his hands.

"Harry, I _will_ get you out of this." Her voice was strong and confident, unwavering, and he wanted so badly to believe her.

"You don't know that, 'Mione."

"I know you're innocent. I'll bring up character witnesses, and use Veritaserum to verify your story. There's no way to trick Veritaserum, Harry. No way in the world."

He looked up at her and tried to smile.

"I wish I were so sure."

_____

He was brought into the courtroom shackled like a common criminal. The steel was cold and chafing against his bare wrists, and with every move the metal clanked.

The room was packed; every spare inch filled with whispering, staring people. He was only too aware of his filthy clothes and his unwashed hair, and he shrank under the scrutiny of the masses, feeling small. Hermione was waiting at the front of the room for him, her lips pressed together into a thin line, looking as professional as they came.

A flash of a camera went off and he winced, knowing that his face would be spread across every paper in England the next day, full of comments on his innocence or his guilt, which ever came to be decided.

Scanning the crowd he spotted the flaming red hair of his in-laws. Mrs. Weasley was crying; he could see the heaving, choking breaths even from his current position. Ron was pale and had bags under his eyes, but his look as he gazed on his best friend was one of supreme confidence. Luna and Neville were also there, next to the Weasleys, and he could see the steadiness of their gazes. Draco Malfoy was a little further away, looking as regal and collected as ever.

A sharp shove from one of his guards propelled him forwards. He was shackled into place next to Hermione and stared at the arrayed Wizengamot before him. He saw Umbridge, Roger Davies, Fudge, and tens of other familiar faces.

None of them were friendly.

The Minister of Magic, a severe man in his early forties named Harland Ashby, banged his gavel and silence fell in the room. "Harry James Potter, you are being charged with one count of torture, one count of using an Unforgivable, and one count of plotting against the Ministry of Magic. How do you plead?"

"My client pleads non-guilty to all charges." Hermione said, in a clear and ringing voice.

There was muttering in the courtroom and Harry leaned closer to Hermione.

"Plotting against the Ministry?"

"They're claiming that you've gone dark, Harry." She whispered back.

He closed his eyes.

He'd been right. That nagging little feeling hadn't just been paranoia.

Merlin, how he wished he had been wrong.

"Very well. We'd like to call Mr. Norton Dawlish to the stand."

The Auror took the stand, his eyes cold as he looked at Harry.

"Mr. Dawlish, can you tell us of the events that occurred on April 13th?"

"We received information of an Unforgivable being cast and reports of screaming coming from the home of Mr. Potter. Upon arrival we found him with his wife, who was screaming uncontrollably. Investigation into the matter revealed that he had cast a Cruciatus Curse."

"And Mrs. Potter's condition?"

"Tortured into insanity, like Frank and Alice Longbottom." Harry looked to the crowd, where Neville flinched at the names of his parents. Luna caught one of his hands in hers, squeezing it gently, and Neville's shoulders seemed to square, his chin jerking up. He caught Harry's gaze and smiled tremulously.

"The wand that cast the Cruciatus was definitely Mr. Potter's?"

"Yes, sir."

"Continue."

"Mr. Potter could not give an alibi for his whereabouts. He informed us that he had been stupefied and woke up to find Mrs. Potter in her current condition. No one can verify his story, and no one had seen him since noon that day."

"Mrs. Granger-Weasley, you are free to question the witness."

Hermione stood, walking to stand in the middle of the courtroom.

"Mr. Dawlish, how long have you been an Auror?"

"Nine years."

"How many times have you had interaction with Mr. Potter?"

"Not many. Four or five, perhaps."

"Do you have any vendetta against Mr. Potter?"

"No."

"Didn't you threaten him during his questioning? Tell him that you would make sure he never saw his wife or children again?"

"The proof is there that he tortured his wife, ma'am. I'm a family man myself and I suppose I got a little angry."

"So the proof is there?"

He nodded. "Without a doubt. The wand, the hours that are unaccounted for."

Hermione paced the courtroom floor. "Did you ever think to check Mr. Potter for fading residue of a spell?"

"I don't understand the question."

"Did you think to check to see if there had been a spell cast upon him, such as a Stupefy?"

"No."

"Did you ever consider that his wand may have been used by someone else in order to cast the Cruciatus?"

"That's highly unlikely."

She smiled without humor. "Is it really? I know of an incident in which it has occurred before. Bartemius Crouch Jr., an escaped Death Eater hiding with his father, Bartemius Crouch Sr., used a stolen wand—Harry's wand, actually—in order to summon the Dark Mark into the sky at the 1994 Quidditch World Cup. The spell was later blamed on the Crouch house-elf, Winky. Testimony of the truth was later given by Crouch Jr. under the influence of Veritaserum to Severus Snape, Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, and Minerva McGonagall."

Dawlish glared at the brunette, who smirked up at him, predatory.

"Now, you said that there was no one to back up Mr. Potter's story as to his whereabouts."

"Yes."

"Is there anyone who saw him walk out of the Ministry of Magic?"

"No."

"Is there anyone who saw him walk into his home?"

"No."

"Then how do you know that's what happened? How do you know he wasn't Stupefied, like he said, and dumped into his home with a wand that had already been used to _Crucio _his wife?"

Dawlish leaned forwards. "There is no one to prove that he did, Mrs. Granger-Weasley. But, more importantly, there is no one to prove that he did not."

_____

"We would like to call Dr. Martin Monroe, an expert on the Rise and Fall of Dark Lords, to the stand."

Hermione hissed from her position next to Harry; he looked over to see her frowning. She caught his eye. "They're trying to make you out to be the next Dark Lord."

He felt sick, his stomach churning, and he gripped the table with white-knuckled hands. He felt her hand on his shoulder. "Don't give up, Harry."

He nodded and turned his gaze to the small man with wire-rimmed glasses taking the stand.

"Dr. Monroe, can you state your credentials to the court?"

"I graduated in the top of my class from Hogwarts in 1955. I've been researching the Dark Arts and Dark Lords for over forty years, and I'm the author of _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_. I have studied extensively the rise and fall of Grindelwald and of You-Know-Who."

Harry and Hermione exchanged glances, both remembering their first ever conversation. She closed her eyes. "If I had known that book was going to come back and bite me in the arse…." He shook his head.

"Why is it that even a so-called expert on Dark Lords can't say his freakin' name?"

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Harry, I think you just gave me an idea."

"Is there something that all Dark Lords have in common?"

"Ambition. They have a thirst for power that eventually leads them to turn to the Dark Arts."

"And how do they begin their descent to the Dark Arts?"

"They normally appear light and, as they burrow further and further into the Dark Arts they become corrupted and are revealed as thus. Their first act of murder or torture usually occurs at a relatively young age, in the early twenties. They are also strongly adverse to competition, intent on wiping out those of a similar power level." The so-called expert explained.

"Does Mr. Potter show some of these same signs?"

"In my opinion, yes." There was an intake of breath from the crowd. "He showed no qualms about taking the lives of Death Eaters, and no remorse in the aftermath. He is very young and has already killed and presumably tortured. He is clearly a powerful wizard, and the temptation to use that power must be very great. One might wonder why he was so vehement in his pursuit of Voldemort, and if, perhaps, his apparent desire to rid the Wizarding World of evil was actually a desire to destroy his competition."

Harry was gripping the table so tightly that he thought it might just splinter in his hands. His skin was pale, his eyes blazing. He wanted to stand up and scream at them, but two things held him down. One was Hermione's worried, pleading gaze for him to remain calm. The other was the knowledge that if he made any kind of outburst they would turn it against him, using it as proof of how dark he was.

He clamped his mouth shut and concentrated on trying to set the man on fire with his glare.

"Thank you, Dr. Monroe. Mrs. Granger-Weasley, the floor is yours."

She stood, and from the way she moved Harry could tell just how angry she was.

"Dr. Monroe, could you please tell me Lord Voldemort's name?"

The people of the courtroom flinched as she said the dreaded name.

The man frowned at her. "You just said it."

"His real name. I'm sure you, of all people, know that Lord Voldemort is just an anagram of his real name."

He shifted uncomfortably on the stand.

"Dr. Monroe?"

"I don't know his name."

"Yet, you call yourself an expert on Dark Lords?"

"I am an expert on the _rise_ and _fall_ of Dark Lords."

She nodded dramatically. "Doesn't part of researching the _rise _of a Dark Lord include knowing their true identity? Ah, but never mind. So you know when Voldemort—whose real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, Dr.—committed his first murder?"

He shifted again. "He's killed so many people that it is hard to decipher who, exactly, was first—."

"His first murder was that of his father, Tom Riddle, followed shortly by the murder of his paternal grandparents. But perhaps those details aren't important to you. You said that Dark Lords possess great ambition, correct?"

"Yes." The man said firmly, obviously glad to be back on safe ground.

"So, by your proclamation that Mr. Potter shows signs of becoming the next Dark Lord, you are implying that he too is very ambitious?"

"Yes. He is a quickly rising Auror who commands great power already."

"Are you aware that Ministry of Magic asked him to become Minister after his defeat of Voldemort?"

The man's mouth dropped open. "N-No."

"Harry turned it down. His reasoning was that he wasn't interested in holding such a powerful position and that he wanted time to heal from the trauma of the war. That's another thing you mentioned, Dr. Monroe. That Harry 'showed no qualms about taking the lives of Death Eaters, and no remorse in the aftermath.'" She stopped her pacing and looked up at him.

"Dr. Monroe, have you ever faced down a Death Eater?"

"No."

"Have you ever faced someone who was intending to kill you?"

"No."

"So you have no idea what it feels like to be in that situation, do you?"

"No."

"I have, Dr., and let me tell you this. When someone is trying to kill you, you don't stop and think 'oh, maybe I should use a less serious spell so that this person can get up in five minutes and kill me then'. Especially not when that person has killed people that you know, friends of yours. You do what you have to."

"Regardless—."

"Have you ever met Harry Potter?"

"No."

"Have you ever spoken to any of his friends?"

"No."

"Have you ever spoken to anyone who knows him as more than a passing acquaintance?"

"No."

"Then how have you come by your conclusions that Harry is the next Dark Lord? From second-hand stories, trashy articles written in tabloids?" She stared up at him, disgust written all over her face. "So much for theory based on reputable sources, Dr. Monroe. No further questions."

______

"We'd like to call Marietta Edgecombe to the stand."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other as the red-haired woman came out and took the stand.

"Could you tell us who you are?"

"I'm a reporter of the Daily Prophet. I was a year above Potter at Hogwarts, and I was in Dumbledore's Army during my sixth year."

"What is Dumbledore's Army?"

"It was a secret organization that Potter and his friends created to undermine Professor Umbridge. They said it was to teach us defense against You-Know-Who, but I think it was for Potter to start recruiting a secret army. They made us sign a parchment that kept us from telling anyone about it."

"Why did you join?"

"My friend, Cho Chang, wanted to and she dragged me along. But I knew it was wrong, so I told Professor Umbridge."

"And what happened?"

"Potter got caught and dragged up to the Headmaster's office. But they hexed me, because I told someone."

"How did you feel about Mr. Potter in school?"

"He always made me nervous, scared. He didn't respect the teachers and he went around talking Parseltongue and saying You-Know-Who's name. He had fits sometimes, where he would fall to the floor, and he got really angry sometimes, just started yelling."

"It's like she's reading from one of the Daily Prophets during fifth year." Harry whispered.

Hermione was glaring daggers at the woman. "I should have spelled that 'SNEAK' to stay on her face permanently."

"Miss Edgecombe, did you know Ginerva Potter?"

The woman nodded. "Yeah. We both work at the Daily Prophet, and I knew her in school. I told her a couple of times that Potter wasn't good for her, but she always told me that I didn't know what I was talking about." She cast a venomous look at Harry. "Now I wish I'd tried harder."

"Thank you, Miss Edgecombe. Mrs. Granger-Weasley—." Hermione was already on her feet.

"Miss Edgecombe, what do you write at the Daily Prophet?"

"I'm a gossip columnist."

Hermione nodded. "Gossip. Isn't it true that seventy-six percent of the Daily Prophet's revenue during the Second War was generated because of gossip concerning Harry Potter?"

The woman looked hesitant. "I guess so?"

"Isn't it also true that having Harry Potter convicted of torture and assault would give the Daily Prophet material for the next hundred issues?"

The woman shrugged. "Maybe?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Do you consider yourself a pretty woman, Miss Edgecombe?"

"Y-yes…." The woman stuttered.

"It must have been hard during your sixth year when you had the word 'SNEAK' written across your face in pimples for a month, after you sold out Dumbledore's Army."

The woman's face twisted and Hermione continued on.

"Doesn't that give you a nice reason to resent Harry Potter? Because he made you a laughing stock in school, showed everyone what kind of person you really were? Wouldn't it make you the happiest person to not only secure your job for the next ten years, but also get revenge against Mr. Potter? Isn't that right?"

"N-No!"

Hermione shook her head.

"No further questions." She walked back to Harry.

"Hermione Granger-Weasley, you are _brilliant_."

"That girl has always pissed me off."

­­­_____

"We will take a ten minute intermission before continuing, after which the Defense will call their witnesses."

Harry turned to Hermione. "Who are our witnesses?"

"Ron, McGonagall, Neville, Malfoy, and you."

"Malfoy?"

"He owes you a life debt, remember? And I wanted someone who isn't quite your friend for a nice little contrast. It would be easy for your friends to lie in your defense, but even though you and Malfoy are on good terms, he wouldn't lie just to cover your arse and he won't hail you as some miraculous savior."

They were approached by two flaming-red heads, one of them missing an ear. "Hey Harry, how are you holding up?"

Harry smiled up at the two twins. "Okay. Hermione is keeping me entertained, at the very least." The twins grinned at their sister-in-law.

"You are _amazing_—,"

"—absolutely outstanding—,"

"—never seen anything like it."

"Seriously, Hermione, how you took down—,"

"—that arrogant, git of a Dr.—,"

"—who actually kind of reminds us of Percy—,"

"—and the way you _destroyed _that bitch—,"

"—it was—,"

"_—brilliant!" _They finished together, and both Hermione and Harry were smiling.

"Thanks, Fred, George. I have to admit, that sticking it to Edgecombe was awesome."

"It was _art_, Hermione."

"How are Ron and Neville doing?"

"They're both afraid that you're going to do to them what you did to everyone else."

She rolled her eyes. "Go tell them that they're idiots. We're on the _same side_!"

"Already did."

Harry looked up at the twins. "Who is taking care of Emma and JJ?"

"The Wives." George said.

The Wives—short for the Weasley Wives, a nickname coined by Fred and George—consisted of every person who had married into the family. Fleur, Tonks, Penelope, Angelina, Katie, and Hermione. Sometimes, jokingly, Harry was included among the Wives as well, the only 'Weasley Husband' of the group.

"The Wives and the Offspring are all at the Burrow. We figured that Emma and JJ would be more easily distracted if they had their two-hundred cousins all running around them."

"The poor Wives." Harry said, grinning slightly. They certainly had their hands full with the entire third generation of Weasleys: Bill's two, Charlie's one, Percy's one, Fred's three, George's two, and his two.

The gavel banged and they all jumped. "The intermission is over. Please clear the floor and let there be silence." Fred and George hurried back to their seats. Ashby looked at Hermione. "You may proceed with your Defense."

* * *

A/N 2: I think I mentioned before that this was AU, but this is just a reminder. The reason why, say, Fred is alive, and Tonks has married into the Weasley family is because certain things happening in the cannon-universe _did _not happen. And because I want Fred alive, since he's one of my favorite characters.

Go on. Push that little blue/purple button. You know you want to. Everybody's doing it. ^^


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